


each hour more deeply

by fatal_drum



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Hair-pulling, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rivalry, Rough Sex, Snark, Spanking, Strap-Ons, Trans Elias Bouchard, Trans Male Character, author is a pretentious bitch who poaches titles from poetry, brief appearance from our goth son Gerry Keay, we all know the Lukases fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 00:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18728173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum
Summary: In an effort to seal an alliance between Beholding and Forsaken, Elias and Peter are forced to marry. That doesn't mean they have to be happy about it, though their wedding night will be one to remember.





	each hour more deeply

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [in burning flowers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17597003) by [Amber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber/pseuds/Amber). 



The negotiations were the strangest any had witnessed, an unprecedented alliance between the Ceaseless Watcher and Forsaken. Two sides of the same coin, but still strange bedfellows; after all, Forsaken’s victims were rarely seen again, and the Watcher’s would beg for such respite. Each god found itself in the position of being too powerful to bend to the other, and yet too fragile to risk the other’s ire.  

They each held their own goals, which were the goals of any god: to enter the human world; to gain its worship; and to hold it forever in terror. They could not share the world, as they were jealous gods. Neither could they see the other destroyed.

Finally they decided on a truce: the binding in flesh of two followers, a sea captain on one side, an academic on the other. Both at the height of their faith and power. Neither could betray the other without forfeiting his life, and the loss of either would be a blow to their patron.

The witnesses on Forsaken’s side were many, tall and pale-eyed folk of few words. Fewer attended for the Watcher: the Archivist, the heads of the Eye’s Institutes, and a few scattered faithful.

Two men stood at the altar. They were an oddly matched pair, one tall and tanned, with silvering hair ruffled from the wind, while the other was shorter and slimmer, with the sharpest pair of eyes in the room. They avoided looking at each other, or at anyone at all.

A tall woman with too many limbs stood before them. In two of her hands, she clutched a book; in another, a thick, black ribbon.

“We stand here today to witness the joining of two powers under the banner of matrimony. In so joining, they make this pledge: that as long as one stands, so shall the other, for all their days.”

“For all their days,” echoed the gathered faithful.

“We witness not just the joining of two powers, but the joining of two men, chosen and agreed upon by their two patrons: Peter Lukas and Elias Bouchard. It is they who take the burden of this alliance.”

She gestured to Peter with one long, many-jointed hand. He plucked a ring from his pocket, a silver band inlaid with mother of pearl, and slid it onto the hand of his intended.

“Elias Bouchard,” Peter began. “I take you as my husband, into my family. Before, I stood alone; in the eyes of my Patron, we stand alone together, for all our days.”

The ring Elias slid onto Peter’s finger was also silver, set with an onyx carved in the shape of an eye.

“Peter Lukas,” he said, “I take you as my husband, though I have no family to give you. I vow to take you into my Sight, and to give myself into yours, for all our days.”

There was no joy in their words, but that did not matter, for neither side dealt in joy. The many-limbed woman bound their ringed hands with her ribbon, then raised them overhead with a flourish.

“I now pronounce your houses, lives, and fates tied, your hands joined as one, for all your days.”

The two men stood there together, hands bound, as the faithful bore witness.

* * *

The night of the wedding was one of the longest of Elias’s life.

The Lukases insisted on a feast afterward, with drinking, dancing, and other nonsense. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as his new husband spun him around the dance floor for their obligatory turn. He was fairly sure he witnessed his drunken Archivist chatting up a long-legged Lukas girl, and he turned away before he discovered too much.

Good lord, there was even a cake with pink buttercream roses. He didn’t want to know who’d ordered it.

“Hideous, innit?” his husband said.

“I wasn’t aware Lukases had taste,” Elias muttered.

Peter chuckled without humor. “I assumed you were too busy moldering away in that dungeon of yours to be aware of our...taste.”

“Yet here we are,” Elias said. “Bound for eternity.”

“Or until one of us breaks the world,” Peter said consolingly.

“You mean,” Elias said primly, “until the Watcher’s Crown is upon us.”

“You can think that if it helps you feel better.”

Elias scowled, wondering if it was too early for his husband to suffer a tragic accident.

“At least you’re not hard to look at,” Peter admitted. “Should make the old marital duties less of a chore.”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Elias snapped.

“You can lie back and think of your books if that’s easier.”

“I don’t intend to be doing any _lying back_.”

Peter’s eyes sharpened with interest, and he grinned. “By all means, take charge. I don’t mind at all.”

“Besides, it’s not as if we’ll be making a habit of it. It’s not as if you can impregnate me.” He’d taken care of that nonsense years ago.

“I wouldn’t mind a few sprogs myself, but there’s other ways to get them.”

The look of sheer horror on Elias’s face was enough to make Peter burst out laughing.

“Oh, darling,” he said, laying a hand on Elias’s shoulder. “If you aren’t _thoroughly_ satisfied tonight, you have my permission to go right back to your dusty bookshelf.”

“I don’t need your ‘permission’ for anything.”

“My blessing, then,” Peter said, his eyes boring into Elias’s. They were the grey of a storm at sea, dark and focused entirely on him. Those eyes Saw him, and for the first time, Elias felt a spark of interest.

Interest he did not want to feel.

“I’m finding the bar,” he snapped, and stalked away.

* * *

By some unspoken agreement, the guests began funneling out just after midnight, leaving Elias to collect his husband, who had somehow wound up hotly debating music with a plastered Gerard Keay.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong,” Keay insisted. “Siouxsie Sioux is a _real_ _artist_.”

“I’m just saying, she’s no Diamanda Galás.”

Elias cleared his throat.

“If it isn’t the old ball and chain,” Peter greeted, throwing his arm around Elias’s shoulder. “Come to ferry me away, I think.”

“If anyone’s ferrying anyone, it would be the one with the boat.”

“Right-o,” Peter said. “Be seeing you, young Mr. Keay. Give my love to your mother.”

The ride to the hotel was a quiet one, with Peter apparently content to enjoy the view, while Elias contemplated mariticide. Surely the Lukases could spare another scion. There were certainly enough of them running about.

They were, of course, situated in the Honeymoon Suite, which was every bit as vile as Elias had imagined, though at least the bed looked comfortable, with silk sheets and plush pillows. Peter immediately scooped up the complimentary chocolates, popping them between his lips chewing with his mouth open.  

“Might as well get this over with,” Elias sighed, unknotting his tie. “Unless you’re too drunk to get it up?”

“For you? Never.”

Peter’s hands nudged Elias’s out of the way, flicking the buttons open with practiced precision. His eyes followed, tracking every inch of skin he revealed.

Elias had no particular feelings on nudity. He had, after all, nothing to hide: his Patron had already seen him inside and out. If he expected commentary on the faded scars on his chest, none came.

Peter ran a hand down Elias’s sternum, his skin surprisingly warm.

“Not bad, for a pencil pusher,” he remarked. “Shall we kiss, or is that too personal for you Watcher types?”

Rolling his eyes, Elias buried a hand in Peter’s hair and dragged him down for a kiss. Peter growled low in his chest, pulling him close, and Elias explored his mouth with the ease of someone who had all the time in the world. Soon, however, the kiss grew more heated, and Elias bit down on Peter’s lip.

Peter grinned. “Is that how it is?”

With a hard shove, Elias pushed Peter onto the bed, straddling his lap as he began extracting the man from his suit. Peter’s cock was firm against his arse, and he ground down just to hear him swear.

Peter’s body was hard from years at sea, and littered with pale scars, some as small as cigarette burns, others large enough to have split him open. The captain had lived a storied life, and someday, Elias would know how he got each one. For now, he settled on knowing them with his hands and lips and teeth.

“My turn,” Peter said firmly, flipping them over. He kissed Elias again, hard, and worked his way down his neck and chest, sucking and licking every inch of skin he could reach. When he reached the tender skin below his belly, he bit down hard, making Elias hiss.

“I want to suck you off,” Peter said, fixing those storm-grey eyes on his face.

“You may,” Elias told him.

Rolling his eyes, Peter opened Elias’s trousers to expose his cock, a clever design that could be worn discreetly or used with purpose. Elias adjusted his cock so it jutted out at the proper angle and stroked it firmly. The pressure on the base was perfect against his groin.

Peter licked his lips, looking from Elias’s face to his cock, before sinking down to give him a slow lick from base to tip. Elias had never noticed how obscenely full Peter’s lips were. He found himself transfixed at the sight of his cock disappearing into his mouth.

“You’re more tolerable with your mouth full,” Elias murmured.

Peter pulled off to lick around the base, laving each of his balls with his tongue, before sucking the shaft into his mouth again. He grabbed Elias’s hands and planted them firmly in his hair, a very clear message.

Elias growled deep in his chest. “You want me to fuck your mouth?”

Peter hummed around his cock, sucking messily.

Nothing would do but to give his husband what he wanted, so Elias yanked his hair hard, thrusting his hips to meet Peter’s mouth. Peter moaned, leaking saliva onto his beard and Elias’s silk trousers without a trace of shame.

Elias raked his fingernails over the back of Peter’s neck, certain he’d leave marks but not caring as he fucked into Peter’s mouth. The base of his cock rubbed against his groin with every thrust.  Peter took it eagerly, hungrily, gripping Elias’s hips tight so he could have every inch down his throat. The room was filled with the wet sounds of their sex. Peter’s face was flushed from exertion and lack of air, but he didn’t stop, just let Elias use his face and throat for his pleasure.

When Elias came, he ground into Peter’s throat, trapping him there until he finished. Peter panted hard against his thigh, nuzzling his cock. Elias bit off a low curse at the stimulation.

“Take off your trousers,” Elias ordered.

Peter hefted himself up, grinning and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Their suits were undoubtedly ruined. He stood and stripped off his trousers and pants, tossing them in opposite directions. Elias stopped him before he could come back to bed with his socks on. He noted with horror that they were covered in cartoon whales.

Elias supposed it was worth it if Peter fucked as well as he sucked cock. His body was also...tolerable to look upon, Elias decided. He had a chest covered in silvering hair, lean runner’s thighs and a thick, mouth-watering cock.

Elias shed the rest of his own clothes, and Peter bent down to kiss him again, wet and filthy. Elias wrapped his hand around Peter’s cock, just a bit harder than most would find pleasurable, and Peter moaned into his mouth.

“What are you going to do to me?” Peter asked.

“I’m going to get you good and ready for my cock,” Elias promised. “And then I’m going to fuck you until your forget your own name.”

"I'd like to see you try," Peter said, reaching for the bottle of slick before flopping down on the bed. He patted his own arse cheek with a rakish wink.

Elias leaned down and grabbed Peter by the hair, kissing him hard. His hands roamed Peter’s body, his chest, his belly, his arse—he took a handful and squeezed, making Peter groan and thrust against him, his cock leaving sticky trails across Elias’s thighs. Finally he rolled Peter over and began working a trail down his back, dipping his fingers between his muscular cheeks. He teased the pucker with his fingers, testing the give of it, before stroking it with his tongue.

Peter jerked, shoving his hips up into Elias’s face, and Elias smirked. He took his time, licking a line from top to bottom, flicking his tongue across Peter’s balls, then rolling them in his fingers just to see Peter squirm.

“Learn all this from a book, did you?”

Elias slapped his arse hard, and Peter moaned and thrust against the silk sheets. Elias followed it with another slap, then another, and other, loud and merciless. Soon Peter’s cheeks were red, and Elias ran his tongue along the marks, biting down.

Peter shoved his arse shamelessly against Elias’s face, hungry for more, and Elias gave it, from small, fluttering licks to deep, plunging kisses that made Peter tear at the sheets.

Finally Elias slicked his fingers, plunging two of them into Peter’s arse, making him arch his back with a low cry. His arse was tight around Elias’s fingers, and he pushed and prodded until Peter started swearing. He scratched deep red marks across Peter’s thighs, fascinated at the way they marred his skin.

“Are you ready?” Elias asked conversationally.

“ _Yes_ , you arsehole!”

Elias wasted no time, slicking his cock up and shoving into Peter’s arse. They both groaned, Elias resting his forehead against Peter’s back as they savored the sensation. Then Elias pulled out, only to grind in harder.

Peter took it beautifully, hands gripping the sheets, thrusting back with his powerful thighs. Elias gripped his hips tightly, so aroused he was nearly dizzy with it. At first, he kept his strokes slow and deliberate, calculated to make Peter crave more. They moved together as one, desperate with hunger.

When he tired of teasing, Elias set a brutal pace, with deep, hard strokes that left Peter gibbering. Peter’s sides heaved, his skin growing slick with sweat, making Elias’s hands slip as he clutched him. He bit down hard into Peter’s shoulder, leaving a ring of bruised flesh.  

“ _Fuck_! I want—to ride you—” Peter ground out.

“Do it,” Elias growled.

Peter pushed Elias so he was sitting against the headboard, straddled him, and sank onto his cock. Elias moaned. The pressure was more intense with Peter’s weight on him, and he had full view of nearly everything. His hands went to Peter’s hips, lifting him up before slamming him back down. Peter leaned down for a biting kiss, panting into his mouth before lifting up again.

When he felt himself growing close, he wrapped a hand around Peter’s cock, stroking him roughly, feeling him clench tight.

“Always wanted to fuck that smarmy look off your face,” Peter snarled.

Growling low in his throat, Elias gripped Peter’s cock tighter, rubbing his thumb just under the crown, and Peter came with a shout, grinding down into his lap and bringing Elias down with him.

Peter collapsed against Elias’s chest, laying his head on his shoulder, and Elias’s arms gripped him reflexively. They relaxed against each other, taking a moment to catch their breath.

“Not bad for a bookworm,” Peter panted.

“Not bad for an illiterate sailor.”

Peter bit down gently on his collar bone. “I’ll have you know I was at Oxford.”

“And what did they teach you?" Elias scoffed. "Which way to point the boat?”

“Poetry, actually.” Peter kissed his collar bone. “For instance: _Thou art not lovelier than lilacs, no, / Nor honeysuckle; thou art not more fair / Than small white single poppies—I can bear / Thy beauty.”_

For once, Elias found himself surprised. “Saint Vincent Millay.”

“I always thought she had the right of it, when it came to love: a poison to be guarded against. A very lonely woman, her.”

Elias raised an eyebrow. “What does any of this have to do with love?”

“I’ll grow on you," Peter said, laughing. "Don’t doubt it.”

Elias left the bedroom to wash up, returning with fresh boxers and a damp cloth for Peter, who took it gratefully. Sleep was usually elusive to Elias, but he found his eyelids already growing heavy.

Without asking, Peter scooped Elias up against his chest, kissing his hair. Elias decided to allow it.

“Good night, darling,” Peter said.  

Elias rolled his eyes, laying his head against Peter’s arm.

“Good night,” he echoed.

Elias drifted off to the sound of Peter’s breathing, the warmth of his body, and the gaze of both their gods. He supposed he could do worse. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to take a moment to acknowledge the people who made this possible; @froodlemonkey for requesting a Peter/Elias wedding; @Amber for their delicious story _in burning flowers_ , which features a trans Elias in an arranged marriage with Jon (seriously, read it); @willowbilly for advice on writing trans characters; @oswobblepot/Seluvia for being my bae and helping me explain the packer more clearly. 
> 
> I’ve done my best to portray a trans character with love, care, and research, but if I’ve missed the mark, I definitely want to hear about it. Sinclair Sexsmith's tutorials, such as [this one](http://www.sugarbutch.net/2011/02/cock-confidence-pack-play/) on pack-and-play cocks, were very useful.
> 
> The title poem is [“Thou art not lovelier than lilacs”](https://www.bartleby.com/131/18.html) by Edna St. Vincent Millay, one of my favorite poets. Yes, I am That Gay. 
> 
> If you enjoy this fic, please let me know what you liked, so I can try to keep it coming. Your comments give me life. <3


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